A Rocky Start
by Casey21
Summary: Even after an older Sherlock Holmes befriends a young Mary Russell, their relationship is not always smooth...


A Rocky Start  
  


Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. To the best of my knowledge, they were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and are used by Laurie R. King in her wonderful books.  
  


This little story takes place in Book One: Apprenticeship at the beginning of Chapter Two: The Sorcerer's Apprentice of The Beekeeper's Apprentice by Laurie R. King.  
  


* * * * * 

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson!" As I bounded into her kitchen (Holmes may have owned the cottage, but the kitchen was Mrs. Hudson's domain.), she gave me a worried smile.

"Ah, Mary. He's in a frightful mood today, dear," she said, her gaze drifting to the stairs that led to Holmes' laboratory.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Not that I can ever tell what's set him off. He's been up there day and night since your last visit, scowling if anyone comes near him. Maybe seeing your face will cheer him up," she replied, adding under her breath, "If that doesn't work, you can always argue him out of this black mood of his."

Laughing, I started up the stairs, calling back, "I'll do my best!"

As much as I could laugh with Mrs. Hudson, I started to get nervous as I approached the laboratory door. (Or, to be more precise, what lay behind that door.) Since this was very early in my association with Holmes, I had no idea what to expect. Bracing myself, I opened the door.

It revealed a flurry of activity. I watched in amazement as Holmes moved rapidly around his laboratory; much like a runaway train that changes direction just before its destruction. "Holmes?" I ventured.

He stopped dead and turned to me. "Ah, Russell. As you can see, I'm a bit busy at the moment. Perhaps it would be better if you came another time. Mrs. Hudson has tea, if you like." He picked up his pen and began writing furiously.

I approached cautiously. "Holmes, is there something wrong?"

Not looking up from his writing, he replied quickly, "Russell, just because I do not wish to spend every spare moment in your company does not mean that a catastrophe has struck. Goodbye." I didn't move, but just stared at him as if he'd physically hit me. That barb stung, but he was the last person I'd want to confess the injury to. So to get away from his apparent indifference, I turned and raced down the stairs.

"Mary!" Mrs. Hudson called after me as I prepared to rush out the door. "Mary, what did he say to you?"

I turned, panting, and answered her. "He merely let me know that my presence has grown old, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry that we shall not become better acquainted. Goodbye." I would have left, but she grabbed my arm.

"Stay a minute then, and let me tell you what I didn't want to before. There has been...some talk in the village about and Mr. Holmes."

"What? I haven't hear anything of the sort!"

She signed. "We didn't want you to hear it. Those people couldn't even be called respectable! Not many people would risk their own reputations to start idle gossip about Sherlock Holmes. They've been dealt with. However, there is always a chance that it could come up again. I think that he's afraid to risk your reputation."

"That's ridiculous! He should know that I don't care a jolt for what any one of them thinks! If I did, I certainly wouldn't be trudging around the countryside in all manner of men's clothing."

Mrs. Hudson gave me a hard look. "Then you must be the one to tell him that, in your usual forceful manner, and make him believe it if you want to save this odd friendship. The two of you need each other, whether you realize it or not."

Nodding grimly, I headed back up those stairs. Mrs. Hudson was right. In a strange way, Holmes and I did need each other, if only to know that our minds were not alone. I fervently hoped that I could make him see the truth of it.

As I approached the door, the idea of knocking and receiving a growl in return was unappealing, so I quietly pushed the door open. The room was just as I had left it, but its occupant was no longer rushing about like a madman. Holmes was sitting by the window with his back to the door, looking out at the path that I would take to get home. I slowly walked toward him and sat on the large window ledge, facing my friend. "Holmes," I said quietly, "Mrs. Hudson told me what you had to do in the village. I would have preferred to hear it from you."

He sighed in resignation. "Russell, do you not understand? My reputation has been formed for many years. Idle gossip is unpleasant, but not devastating. You, however, because of your youth, have no such luxury. I had thought that my reputation would protect you from this ugly nonsense. It seems that I was wrong, at least as far as these people were concerned. I thought it best that you should move on and devote your time to studying (the distaste in his voice was evident) theology, or whatever else you want to read at Oxford."

"So you took the choice from me without my knowledge?! Really, Holmes! I can make my own decisions, and had you thought to consult me in this matter, I would have told you my opinion of it."

"You would have refused to leave out of stubbornness and a misplaced sense of duty to me. I tell you, Russell, I will not have you feeling responsible for me!" Holmes was starting to become angry, and so was I. 

"You couldn't be more wrong! I have learned through painful experience that I am responsible only for myself. If I cared at all what the villagers think of me, would I go scrambling about with a book in a man's costume? And know this, Sherlock Holmes, I'm telling you that any sense of duty that I may hold for you is not misplaced. Holmes, you've given me a friend and a tutor. Do you think that there is anyone outside these walls with whom I can hold a stimulating conversation? Don't insult me with a lie."

"You are quite decided, then? It will not always be easy. Mrs. Hudson can give you an accurate description of how difficult I can be, as you have witnessed today." When I didn't respond, he muttered to himself, "There really is no going back after this."

Surprised and not at all able to grasp his meaning, I simply stared back at him in answer.

"Right, then," he said, jumping up. "Come, Russell, and tell me what you think of this experiment with the blood clots..."

Standing next to him at the laboratory table, I tried to concentrate on what he was demonstrating, but my gaze kept traveling up to his face, wondering how this man who was over thirty years my senior had become my closest friend. It was then that I truly became Sherlock Holmes' apprentice. 


End file.
